


The Senator and the General

by Davechicken



Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-24
Updated: 2016-12-24
Packaged: 2018-09-11 13:51:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 779
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8982526
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Davechicken/pseuds/Davechicken
Summary: He is pragmatic, and she is idealistic.





	

“If we become like them, what are we even fighting for?”  


“Some of us have to take that blood on our hands, Senator.”  


“I agree we have to make some tough decisions, but I do not think we can keep any moral highground if we lower ourselves to our enemy’s level.”  


“I _wish_ we could lower ourselves that far. If we had the ships, the men and women they have? Do you know what we could do?”  


She doesn’t, because they haven’t. And whilst she is a leader, _he_ is a soldier. Mon Mothma has only ever known these lean times, never the real flush of success. Before the Empire, there had been no need for Senators such as her to come this close to the realities of war.

Which is why they are in this mess, to begin with. She wouldn’t let it happen again.

“I stand by my convictions: we cannot become what we would defeat.”  


“And I stand by mine: we can’t bloody defeat them if we can’t _fight back.”_  


It is an age-old argument, and one that neither will win. She isn’t sure she _should_ , though. That’s what democracy is about: the dialogue. The discussion. The voices coming together to find the clearest note of sanity, of safety, of _good_. 

Draven is a man of war. She is a woman who wants peace. 

He’ll pull at his leash, and she’ll keep him in check. But he, too, will drag her from her ideals if it is the only way to survive. That middle ground… that’s where they meet.

“We will win.”  


“You keep saying that.”  


“I believe it.”  


***

He makes love like he fights. Nothing is off-limits, and everything is a target. She has had many lovers over the years, and each has had their own sweetness, their own delight.

His is in the way he parts her legs. His foreplay is in the eyes that tell her he wants her, and the nips to her throat he clearly wishes could mark. The mixed reverence and force, the way he treats her like she could shatter and as if she could take anything he throws at her.

She doesn’t know if it’s her rank and position that makes him so wary of her, but he won’t leave a sign where anyone could see. Thumbs on her inner thighs, five o’clock stubble on her breast. Never a bruise or a scratch that could identify their tryst. Never a footprint away from clothes.

They like to fuck against tables, with her legs around him and her hands stroking the curves of his skull. Short, sharp thrusts and she’s learned to finger her lips as he takes her. He won’t leave her unsatisfied, but she comes more on his face as he eats her out after, than she does on his cock. 

Up against walls. Her back arched - the same as anyone underneath her finery - letting him slap his thighs to hers. On the small cot that serves for his bed, surrounded by trinkets of kills and survivals. Kneeling on his lap, using him to get her closer. 

If anyone notices their tryst, no one cares. She’s a free woman, and he’s a free man, and everyone needs to blow off steam from time to time.

Mon Mothma doesn’t know if the arguments fuel the passion, or the passion makes the arguments keener, but he’s always more brutal with her when they’ve been disagreeing. His hands on her throat so sweet and soft as his hips pound into her from behind, or his palms cupping her breasts and taking the sway as he rides her walls at pace. 

Right now, he’s grunting his frustration into the back of her neck, the tickle of his breath a bizarre counterpoint to the way he widens her hole with the angle he’s using her in. Her hands brace on the edge of the desk, and he reaches around to sloppily finger her outer lips, and grind his heel over the hood. It’s close, so close, and she pushes his hand where she wants it. A wordless command, and he obeys. 

The explosions inside make her work him harder, and his release is a frustrating not-enough.

But as ever, he won’t abandon her. Her General drops to his knees, shoving his face between her folds to suck and lick her clean. Two fingers frig her hole wide, and she’s coming over his chin as he thumbs her pearl so roughly it nearly hurts. Mon Mothma rides his face like the wonder it is, and doesn’t stop until she isn’t sure she’ll stand once he moves.

Yes. Their fights are always worth it.


End file.
